


Infamy

by urami



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Afterlife Society, Crimes & Criminals, Gen, Retribution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13821849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urami/pseuds/urami
Summary: Sometimes, being well-remembered in the Land of the Dead isn’t a good thing.





	Infamy

Sometimes, as Ernesto de la Cruz was finding out, being well known in the Land of the Dead wasn’t necessarily a good thing. The dead had long memories, and were truly terrible gossips. Within a few days of his run-in with the Rivera family, where he tried to kill Hèctor /again/ and kill the man’s descendant, the entire undead /world/ knew about his treachery. Within three days he had been forced to flee his tower because of the angry mob that had formed at the base- including a good number of skeletons wielding actual torches and pitchforks.

Any time he tried to go anywhere in the city, he was quickly spotted and recognized. The shouts of “Traitor!” and “murderer!” reverberated in his head. He was chased away from residences if he got too close. He was forcibly removed from businesses he attempted to patronize. He was constantly paranoid that he was being followed by someone who wanted to try to send him onwards to the Final Death themselves.

Leaving the main part of the city for the shantytown wasn’t an option either. Everyone /there/ was quite fond of Hèctor. Ernesto had barely taken two steps into the slums before he was confronted by a small army of skeletons wielding whatever improvised weapons they could find. Sandals, their own bones, broken bottles, various kitchen tools, a badly dented trumpet, and even one spirit of a teenaged boy who’d managed to find a /shotgun/ somewhere.

“You have about thirty seconds to get the hell out of here before we decide to see if it’s possible to kill a dead guy,” the middle-aged woman at the head of the pack warned. Ernesto didn’t need telling twice. He turned tail and ran, ignoring the jeers of the crowd behind him, and /especially/ trying to ignore the cracking-voiced complaint of someone who sounded like an adolescent boy.

“Aw. I wanted to see if it still worked.” 

Ernesto couldn’t stay in the city, and he most certainly couldn’t stay in the shantytown, not unless he wanted to end up in a multitude of pieces scattered throughout the town. That left him with only one other place he could go. The Wastelands.

Most spirits did everything in their power to avoid going there. The Wastelands were the outskirts of the outskirts, the place where people considered too deranged for civilized society ended up. It was the dumping ground for criminals- notorious murderers, fraudsters, arsonists, organized crime members, counterfeiters, prostitutes, drug dealers... and in recent years it had also become home to a number of computer hackers. It was also where the people who died bearing a furious grudge often hung around, as their tempers and hatred weren’t a good match for existing among the normal, everyday dead.

There were also rumors in the city that the Wastelands contained a multitude of dangerous entities. There were alleged sightings of zombies every year, not that Ernesto actually believed in such things. And if it wasn’t zombies, the rumors included other kinds of spirits, including /genius loci/ connected to places in the living world, tsukumogami, sentient spirits of objects, and a number of legendary monsters.

When he first stepped into the Wastelands, nobody gave Ernesto a second glance. He saw a gaunt, glassy-eyed female spirit talking to an extremely sketchy-looking male skeleton with an x-shaped crack in his cheekbone. A guy in a trenchcoat appeared to be selling a short man a watch. Scantily-dressed female spirits stood on street corners, and a young man’s ghost ran past him shouting about the impending government takeover of the Wastelands.

“Tch. Luis is at it again,” Ernesto heard a man say. “And here I thought his moving in with Dolores would help his delusions.” Surprised, Ernesto turned towards the voice to see that he was indeed being addressed- by the man with the watches in his trenchcoat. The man looked back at him. “Huh, you know, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. But you look really familiar.”

“I have a common face,” Ernesto said quickly. The other man barked a laugh.

“Dude, most people would kill to have looks as good as yours. Actually- your bones are so white! You new? Must have done something pretty crazy to end up out here with us lowlifes!” The watch seller laughed at his own joke. “Well if you want to make it out here you should get to know some folks. Name’s Chuy, your friendly local procurement expert.”

“Ernesto,” the disgraced star replied without thinking. Chuy’s eyes went wide.

“Not as in Ernesto De la Cruz?” he blurted aloud.

/That/ got the attention of everyone within earshot, including Luis the conspiracy theorist who stopped ranting about aliens long enough to take a good look. Immediately the people within the small plaza area all rushed over.

“You’re that asshole who tried to kill that living kid on Dìa de Muertos!” one of the prostitutes accused. “What the fuck is wrong with you.”

“You ruined my grandmother’s life, you bastard!” the scary-looking scarred man accused. “Do you even remember her?! Her name was Elvira Gúzman! You got her pregnant with my dad and left her!”

“What kind of worthless coward kills his own best friend?” the glassy-eyed, gaunt woman shouted. “And with poison! I died of an overdose. There is nothing more terrifying and disorienting than dying of poisoning, and at least I knew I was dying from fent toxicity! Being poisoned and not realizing it would be much worse.”

Even the crazily-ranting Luis got in on it. “You’re here to spy on us, aren’t you? That’s how you got out of that bell!”

Ernesto gasped and backed up, trying to get a little more distance between himself and the growing crowd. He winced. Even out here in the Wastelands, where the scum, villainy, and just plain bonkers of society went to live out their afterlives, was he never going to be able to get away from angry mobs?

As he continued to back up, Ernesto didn’t see that the man who had accused him of impregnating his grandmother had broken off from the group and run behind him. The disgraced superstar collided with someone, and turned around to see the man in question smirking down at him.

“The nuns might have been wrong- committing sins might not get you sent to hell. But that doesn’t mean you get away with your crimes. Welcome to your own personal hell, De la Cruz!”

For as many times in the past several days, Ernesto /really/ wished he wasn’t as well known as he was.

/END

**Author's Note:**

> If you notice any weird typos, please let me know. I typed this largely on my cell phone because my computer’s motherboard is shot and the new one is taking a million years to get here. 
> 
> I think I got all the nonsensical autocorrects, but a few might have slipped past me.


End file.
